The Letters I Once Wrote
by Shemaya Rowenka Navaratne, Presbyterian Ladies’ College
Finalist, Years 7 – 8, performance poetry
The letters I once wrote
-To the one person who saw me as more than just silent words on paper.
I remember 2 Augusts ago, passing the envelope of a hand-written note,
Because those lost pieces of memories were the letters I once wrote.
Because now, those creased envelopes remain something in the past.
That ‘someone’ who holds ‘something’ that I maybe thought could last.
Because oh-only one person knew what it all really meant.
Now I look back to my last written letter, only to see the words holding pain and regret.
I knew there was nothing to be kept, that I had to leave those letters behind.
Because the words of silence choked me, those memories in the back of my mind.
Because feeling drowned in so much denial, pierces right through my chest,
Held together by the comfort of hand-written letters, tied with patience and rest.
None of it was rushed, yet punctuated a flaw
Where the letters didn’t just mark cherished memories, but something raw.
Those faint hidden confessions, laced with silence and pain.
The sense of emotion I can’t feel or maintain.
The press of my finger as I traced down the shaky rows,
In the midst of July, reminding myself how fast the way life goes.
The intricate design of erased words and reality that was not there to remind,
but lace what I barely kept together, what I almost left behind.
That knowing of loss down memory lane as I cried,
Those thoughts of blame and ‘I miss you’s’ closing helplessly inside.
It was all love, no..but loss, looking back in July,
Those remaining letters held the truth but seek… all but a lie?
I knew I should have kept to myself, to hide back all those tears.
The silence was broken and shattered, flicking back to those distant years.
Everything I once wrote, relentlessly drawing back to ‘raw and suffocating.’
Where the memories didn’t need to be reminded, but they were there, hopelessly waiting.
Yes, those letters were more than words, it was everything I had.
The only way I could truly commemorate a feeling I could never understand.
Instead, the parchment stays creased, with faded lines of love, truth and pain.
When will I be able to write a letter like this again?
To pick up the pencil, shakily reaching for the words and write down the page,
that mistaken hope of loss, pain knowing it was not just from the coming of age.
Smudged ink, dried tears, and torn edges—each gatekeeping hope,
It’s not just words that were left behind, in that small envelope.
Those crimson red drops defined those years seeking punishment and blame.
Now following lightly behind a letter, knowing that silence would never be the same.
If I understood what it meant, that it was appreciation, love than hate,
This denial slips through my fingers, yearning to have thanked them before…it was too late.
To someone I found was the beat of my heart,
To slip through the cracks…realising I wasted the precious part.
Because now I know those letters of ink were more than a hand-written note,
Because these words, oh these words, were the letters I once wrote.
There’s only so much that I wrote that was true,
But there was one thing I could have said…
‘I miss you.’
Want to read more poems? Explore the other Years 7 – 8 finalists.